Friction
by Kaito The Shadow Wrya
Summary: Tiffany Pelley was never one for danger, or for adventures, but when you find a friction point under your bed that leads to another world, what would you expect? No pairings, OC. HIATUS
1. Prologue

**A/N: I've been thinking on it a bit, and I've finally decided I should write this story. I decided on this because I'm rereading the harry potter series, and they're awesome. In all honesty, I've only reread up to the third book, Prisoner of Azkaban, but I feel I know enough information at the time. If I don't know something, I'll look it up, or ask my mother, who's read all of the books and seen all of the movies.  
**

**Well, enough of that useless information. **

**Allons-y!**

* * *

There are many different worlds around us, that we cannot see or touch or feel. Every world is oblivious to the other ones around it, and this is mostly because nobody has ever crossed to a world that was not their own. It was just simply impossible, not to mention preposterous. As if anybody would believe there were other worlds magically bouncing or floating around ours. People would think you were mad, completely bonkers, and you'd promptly get shoved off to the loony bin.

Although you can't really blame us, human's are usually afraid of things they don't understand at first. They'll warm up to the idea after a while, because after all, humans are like that. It's quite fantastic, if you think about it.

While these worlds are all next to one another, they never touch, and if they do the damage is usually invisible to those inside the worlds, but on the outside it can look quite ugly. Of course, human's cannot see the outside of the worlds, nobody can, although if you could they would look something akin to a white scarred and scratched distorted ball, with bruises and lumps scattered all over their skin.

These scratches are called friction points, and are usually too small for anything to pass through. The biggest friction point that has been recorded was as big as a butterfly, and the smallest wasn't even big enough for an atom to pass through.

There were nearly infinite worlds, one for every idea, for every difference, every single molecule out of place, there is a world. Just imagine that, all those worlds, every single one for every single idea. So many worlds, and yet so little known about them all. It really is quite sad.

Nobody has ever crossed into another world before, that is, until two worlds collide at such a speed that they are stuck together, looking somewhat like a peanut shell, leaving a large friction point, the largest in history. Nearly big enough for a human to crawl in.

That is where one story, the story of Tiffany Pelley's normal human life, ends, and the tale of the friction point, begins.

* * *

"Will- just- fit- already!" yelled a very frustrated Tiffany Pelley, who was currently trying, and failing, to shove all of her school books into one tiny, brown satchel that resembled an abused kitten. All of her classmates were leaving history class, chattering and muttering about upcoming events such as the assembly on anti-bullying methods and the 'Stop Drug Abuse' campaign that Mitchel Durum was trying to set up for next Wednesday. Tiffany's brow furrowed in annoyance as she eyed the evil, evil bag that refused to carry all of her school materials. She contemplated just carrying two of her books in her hand just so she could zip the damned thing.

"C'mon Tif, I don't need another detention from Mr. Martinez for being late again. Just buy a new damn bag when you get home and lets go already!" yelled an exasperated Brooke Patcher, who was standing next to Tiffany's desk, tapping her foot impatiently. Tiffany stopped mid-shove as she pulled her thick and old history book out from her bag and held it securely under her arm. With a final zip of her bag, she straightened and set off to her next class with Brooke.

"If you don't want to wait, then just go without me for god's sake. Nobody's making you stay, Brookie wookie." Brooke scowled at the nickname before responding.

"Yes, but then I would be a _bad friend, _and we all know what happens to bad friends." She wagged her finger in Tiffany's face for emphasize, grinning condescendingly at her friend.

"You mean the ghost of Marcus Tollow haunts you? Brookie I thought you didn't believe in fairy tales." Tiffany mocked sarcastically, a fake look of shock plastered on her face. Brooke resisted the urge to face palm.

"Retard, I mean you'll be all like 'Ugh its that bitch, _Brooke._ Ya guys she's a bad friend, so throw paper at her and trip her in the hall, ooh and let's draw dicks on her homework when she isn't looking', just like that one chick did in that one movie to that one other chick with the cool hair." Brooke insisted, humor evident in her tone. Tiffany grinned right along with her, and soon the two were engulfed in mindless chatter.

The two eventually settled into their next and final class for the day, which was science. People would usually find this class tedious and difficult, but Mr. Martinez's teaching methods are different from most's. He uses humor to make the lessons fun, which makes it less tedious, and all the while you're still learning something. While Mr. Martinez may seem more like a best friend, he was still a teacher, and tardiness would still lead to a detention, albeit a short one.

Today's class was about the planets of the solar system, where the main jokes were about Uranus and how Jupiter was compensating for something. The class was enjoyable, although Mr. Martinez said he would be gone for a month, starting next week, on an extended paid leave so he could help his wife in the hospital, who would be going through a surgery to get her wrist fixed. At the end of the class he wrote down the next lessons for the substitute that would come in his place next week and the homework that they would need them to collect. He also drew obscure smiley faces all over the chalk board, which worried the class greatly. Since it was the end of the day, Brooke and Tiffany began to walk home. The bus didn't pick them us, as they lived quite close to the school, and Brooke insisted that the exercise was beneficial.

Brooke and Tiffany broke apart after a short distance of walking away from their school. Brooke turned 90 degrees and walked down the block, towards her house on Simmons street, and Tiffany crossed the road and stopped at the third house on Kingington Boulevard. It was a small red house made out of bricks with white trimming and a faded white fence surrounding it. It had a rusted swing set in the back yard that you could hear creaking from a block away on a particularly windy day. The season was fall, which made the red on the house seem more of a maroon due to the leaves scattered around the yard. It looked quite cozy, if you kinda squinted your eyes.

Tiffany unlocked the door and entered. The house, unlike its exterior, was made entirely of cold color schemes. The walls were different shades of blue, with the kitchen being cornflower blue and the living room being a dark royal color. The couch was black and free of hair, obviously freshly vacuumed, with the ebony coffee table separating it from the television. On the other side of the room the fire place was set in front of two small purple recliners with a small shabby brown table between them, holding a vase full of dying flowers. On the mantle above the fireplace, there were various nick-knacks and items set in near perfect order. Several sports trophies sat on the end, next to them there were cheap new-york souvenirs and small scented candles.

Three framed pictures sat at the other side of the mantle, one was taken years ago when Tiffany's mother and father were newlyweds, the next was taken of Her mother, father and Tiffany when she was only five. The last was taken the year prior to this one, the people in it including Tiffany, her father, her mother, and her little sister Patrice, who was only four years old in the picture. The hard wood floor was littered with scuff marks from furniture being shoved around, and a dull gray rug lay on top of it, right in front of the recliners.

There was a fat ginger cat lying on one of the recliners, its dull eyes staring at Tiffany in boredom. Tiffany pats his head before shuffling off to her bedroom, making a mental note to vacuum the chairs before her mother gets home. She would flip if she found cat hair all over her favorite, freshly cleaned furniture.

As soon as she reached her room, she dumped her school books on her cluttered oak desk, and with a sigh of relief, sprawled out on her purple bed, pulling her dark hair out of its infuriatingly tight bun. Tiffany kicked off her sneakers and threw her jacket on the floor, ignoring the fact that she would have to clean up later. It's not like she cared if her mother threw a fit about it anyway, she could hiss and fuss about it all she wanted. Her mother wasn't going to be home for two hours anyway, and what she didn't know wouldn't kill her.

After nearly twelve minutes of just lying there, almost falling asleep, Tiffany was abruptly awoken by the strangest sound. It resembled that of a fan mixed with the sound of a washing machine, which was odd, considering she was the only one home, and all the fans were off and the washing machine was broken.

"This is really weird.." she muttered, standing up as she started walking around the room. A minute of doing this made her realize that the sound was loudest when she lied on her bed. She proceeded to tug and pull at the sheet and bedspread, revealing that in fact, nothing was wrong with her bed. She thought on it for a moment before pulling the twin bed away from the wall.

"Holy hell..." Tiffany gasped at what she saw. It looked like a hole in the wall right under her bed, that was just short enough to be invisible to one unless the bed was moved. She bent on her knees and looked at the hole. It looked like your every day, run of the mill hole in the wall, except she couldn't see the end of it. The sound got louder when she bent down, so it must be the source of the noise, although she probably would have remembered if she'd made a hole in the wall of this size. Nobody just knocks a giant hole in the wall and forgets it. The world just doesn't work that way.

Now, Tiffany never was the sort to just jump right into danger, or go on crazy adventures, but when she saw that giant hole in her wall leading to who-knows-where, all of that seemed to dissolve as her curiosity grew and grew with each passing moment.

And then she crawled into the hole.

* * *

**A/N: And that is the end, my friends. For this story I wanted to write in third person, and give it a try, but I'm probably going to shift into first person next chapter. This is basically the prologue, and the first chapter, so I kind of felt obligated to write it in third person, which is annoying to me. Ugh, never again, man, never again.  
**

**Updates will be at random, and thanks for reading (well, if anybody decides to read. Usually when I try and write a second story, nobody reads it and I end up upset over it for a week.)  
**

**~Kaito  
**


	2. Am I on drugs?

**A/N: Nice to see some people are reading. Even if its only a few. I've decided to switch to first person now, just because its easier. Plus, I love getting into peoples heads. Enjoy.**

* * *

The hole was large enough for me to crawl in, but small enough where I had to have my chin touching the floor. My hair got caught on my fingers a couple times, which got really annoying. What was even more annoying is that the further in I got, the dimmer the light was until I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see the end of it, which begs the question, just how long is this tunnel? It couldn't be longer than the thickness of the wall, which isn't even that thick. It couldn't possibly be that long, but somehow, it is.

Maybe the tunnel lead to the sewers or something? I doubt it, but its the only logical explanation I can come up with.

The further I go, the colder it gets. Before I know it it feels like I'm treading through deep icy snow. My fingers and toes begin to feel numb, and suddenly my sweater doesn't feel as cozy as it once did.

Then something happened- There was a light ahead of me. It didn't lighten the walls or floor, which still looked black as ever. It looked like a fire light, and spread warmth throughout the tight dark tunnel. I doubled my crawling speed, practically hauling my body towards it.

Once I finally got to the end, I threw my body out of the hole and attempted to stand up. I immediately regretted it as I clutched my head, leaning against the wall until it subsided.

Wait a minute.

Wall.

There was a wall behind me.

My eyes snapped open as I spun around. There was indeed a wall behind me. It was made of an old stone-like material, with small cracks scattered across its surface. I took a look around- I was in a humongous hallway, with short stone pillars that had flames atop them on the sides. It stretched far in both directions, with the occasional door and intersection.

If there was fire here, that means someone was here recently to light it.

Very recently.

I heard loud footsteps behind me, and panic began to overwhelm my senses. I turned to the tunnel, hoping to escape, but it was gone. It was like it completely vanished.

The footsteps got louder, signaling that they were closer, and I took off in the opposite direction. I was sprinting as fast as I could; the world a blur around me.

I went down various hallways and corridors, hoping and praying that whoever was behind me hadn't followed me. I saw blurs of squares on the walls- pictures, maybe?

"Oi, stop yer runnin' little girl!" one of them shouted. Wait, shouted? Like people do?

I didn't even bother stopping at this revalation. It was probably a TV anyway, which means I'm in someones house. And by how many TV/pictures were on the wall, they're pretty loaded.

Either that or this is all some wacky realistic dream that I will _hopefully_ wake up from, right?

Right?

Yeah, I'm right.

My running ceased when I slammed into something- hard. I flew back several feet and landed flat on my rump. I'll probably have a nasty bruise there for a week.

I heard a voice- male obviously, but my headache made it impossible for me to make out what they were saying. Instead I pushed them aside and started sprinting, as if they weren't even there. I pushed my legs harder and harder as they started to ache, willing myself to go faster. The more I ran, the more I realized just how big this place was. It wasn't a rich persons mansion- oh no.

This was a castle.

It just had to be.

After running for nearly a solid minute I finally collapsed, my lungs on fire. I leaned against the wall panting heavily, unconsciously rubbing my sore bottom. I just knew the damn thing was bruised.

I could hear footsteps again, but they were louder and quicker. Whoever I ran into was chasing me, which was bad.

My head inclined slightly and I saw my salvation. A door.

I pulled open the unlocked door and hauled myself in, closing it behind me. I leaned against it and slid down. I forced myself to even my breathing until the stranger passed. I saw the shadows of their feet go past the door as their foot steps slowly but surely got quieter as they got further away. I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Now what, I wonder, are you doing here?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin in fright. My head snapped back to see that nobody was in the room. The only things that stood out much were the pterodactyl-like skeleton in the ceiling and the large life sized portrait of the blonde oddly dressed man at the front of the room. The only thing between me and it were some desks and chairs set up to look almost like a classroom.

"Who's there?" I asked feebly, my eyes darting around the room.

"Well I am Gilderoy Lockhart, one of the most famous wizards of this age!" A proud voice answered. My eyes widened as I turned my gaze to the portrait. It moved. It actually freaking moved.

"I'm Tiffany. Am I on drugs, Mr. Lockhart?" The portrait gave a puzzled look, but then flashed a white shining smile.

"Well I hope you aren't, young student, or I would have to tell Professor Dumbledore." He said. "Drugs can be very bad for you, but thankfully I know plenty of spells to reverse the effects, as I have written in my book 'Travels with Trolls' where I-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Spells and what-not. Do you know where I am?" He looked a little miffed at being cut off, but quickly composed himself.

"Why Hogwarts! It is only the finest school where one an learn witchcraft and wizardry! Surely you must know that!" My eyebrows raised up to my hairline in surprise, and then disbelief.

"Witchcraft and Wizardry? That's just plain impossible, but then again, you _are_ a talking portrait." I pointed out.

"I get the feeling you aren't a student." He said.

"That I am not."

"I should probably get myself awake to tell Minerva. This could be very bad."

"Indeed it might." said a voice from above. I inclined my head to see that it was Gilderoy Lockhart in the flesh, in what looked to be robes.

"How long have you been standing there, me?" asked portrait Lockhart with a grin.

"Long enough, me." Said the actual Lockhart with a matching one. "Now, I shall take you to Minerva McGonagall Tiffany. Follow me." I was wary of him, seeing as I had only just met him.

Plus, he had a freaking talking portrait of himself in his room. That's creepy as hell.

While we walked Lockhart told about his career. At first I paid rapt attention since the stuff he was telling me was pretty interesting, but then the conversation swerved left and eventually he was talking about how he had an award for the best smile or whatever. I didn't even know people got those kinds of awards. I guess it wasn't any different from American Idol to these people but whatever.

They were British so I didn't really know anything about their culture.

My thoughts began to drift after while, going from one thought to another. I kind of zoned out until Lockhart brought me out of my mind.

"Ah, Minerva, just the woman I wanted to see!" he exclaimed as a woman with glasses- no spectacles, they were definitely spectacles- and a tight bun. She turned her stern gaze towards Lockhart.

"Good evening Gilderoy." She said stiffly. "What is this student doing out of bed?" I resisted the urge to shrink under her pointed stare that could probably melt iron.

"Well the thing is, Minerva, she isn't a student. I found her roaming my classroom. She seems to be muggle." Lockhart answered.

"Muggle? That's preposterous. The school is enchanted so that muggles specifically cannot see it." She insisted, looking between me and Lockhart.

"She doesn't seem to have any prior knowledge of magic at all. Why, she hadn't even heard of me!" He said in disbelief. There was a pause before McGonagall sighed and responded.

"If she_ is_ muggle, then we should take her to Dumbledore in the morning. Merlin knows how she got here." Morning? What time is it? When I crawled through the tunnel it had been only about 3:30 PM to 4:00 PM.

"Where will I stay?" I asked, speaking to McGonagall for the first time.

"American, then? You're a long way from home." she muttered under her breath before answering. "Hogwarts is a large castle, there are some unused bedrooms about."

"I will see you two in the morning. I have a class tomorrow and I don't wish to teach it half asleep." Lockhart gave a grin before going back to his room. McGonagall turned to me. "There is a room on this floor you can stay in until tomorrow, then I will take you to Dumbledore and we can sort this entire thing out." She said. "Come this way." She turned and walked down the corridor with me walking behind her.

* * *

Several sharp turns and two talking portraits later, McGonagall lead me to an empty room with only a bed with a white sheet, pillow and blanket, and a dresser.

"I will see you in the morning." She replied curtly before closing the door behind her. I did the only normal thing I could do.

I lied down and went to sleep.

Well I actually couldn't fall asleep yet. What, with all the weird things happening. I had way too much on my mind to sleep.

I don't know how, but this place was magic. Actual freaking _magic. _Hopefully this was a dream, but if it isn't then holy hell. _Magic._

Magic.

_Magic._

You know that stuff you liked to pretend you had when you were a kid?

That's this stuff.

Holy crap.

And then there's the tunnel disappearing. Does that mean I can never get home? That tunnel is my only chance to get home, besides a boat or a plane. I doubt I crawled in a hole all the way to Britain anyway, that tunnel had to be magical in some way, shape, or form.

Magic.

Hm, maybe I am on drugs.

After lying there on the lumpy bed for roughly an hour, I dozed off, one part of me hoping that I would wake up at home and find out this was all a dream, and the other part loving every second of this.

Magic.

Holy freaking crap.

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**A/N: Done, done, and done. Hope you like it.**


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